Surprises
by Connway
Summary: Told from Michonne's POV, a "missing scene" story that takes place after the claimer attack on Rick, Carl and Michonne. Rick and Daryl talk about where they've been while Michonne listens in. Could be read as implying slash or just as friendship, depending on your preference. Rated M just in case, though probably really a T rating.


After the claimers' attack, I suggested we move on immediately, but Rick shook his head, bloody and exhausted.

"Carl needs a couple hours of sleep," he insisted.

"No I don't," Carl muttered. But I could see that Carl—not to mention Rick-was powered sheerly by adrenalin at this point, and that would wear off quickly. Daryl spoke up first.

"When I was with them," he jerked his head toward the dead men, "we hadn't seen any walkers round here for a couple miles at least. Should be safe enough to get a bit a sleep."

"We should just go. Those bodies will attract any walkers around," Carl protested, and since he had a point, we all agreed to move the bodies. Together we piled the dead men like firewood a quarter mile from the car. Rick wheezed and held his ribs after moving his second man, and after that Daryl and I shouldered Rick out of the way as much as possible, moving the rest of the men ourselves. Carl strung our usual alarm system around them, rope with noisemakers. If walkers were attracted to the bodies, at least we'd get an early warning and some time to get out. When we were finished, it was dark, though the moonlight gave us long shadows on the road. I pushed Carl toward the car.

"Carl, why don't you sit with me in the car for a little bit. You can get your forty winks while I keep watch and then we'll switch. Your dad and Daryl can sit in the front seats and do the same. Just for a couple hours, til it's light."

Carl looked at me doubtfully.

"I could use the rest," I said. From behind Carl, Rick shot me a grateful look. Sighing, Carl got in the car, settling behind the passenger seat. I climbed in the other side, setting my katana on the floor across my feet. Wordlessly Daryl slid into the front passenger side, Rick into the driver's seat. They both kept their doors open, and Daryl left one foot hanging out the door, as if he might need to make a quick getaway. Carl remained upright beside me for only a few minutes, and then, his breath slowing, he slumped over onto my shoulder. I eased him down, until his head was on my lap. He slept fitfully, mumbling now and then, his eyes moving fitfully under his eyelids, but at least he was sleeping. I leaned back and closed my eyes, too. After a few minutes I heard the creak of Daryl turning to look at us and then turning back around.

"They're sleepin," he told Rick quietly.

There was a long pause, and then Rick asked, "What happened?" Such a simple question. I wasn't sure at first that Daryl was going to answer, but then his voice came, soft and husky. He started back at the prison, told about how he and Beth had gotten out, how they'd wandered for days, told about what animals he'd trapped, what they'd eaten in the woods. He talked about finding the still and burning it, the walker attack on the funeral home, and finally Beth being stolen away in a car whose drivers he couldn't see. Through the whole story, his voice was quiet, almost whispered, and calm. Something must have showed on his face, though, because whenever he'd pause for too long, Rick would say something like, "you did everything you could, Daryl," or "easy, brother," and after a moment Daryl would continue his quiet narration. When he'd told his story right up to realizing that we were the people the claimers were about to kill, he stopped. There was silence in the car, and then Carl muttered in his sleep and Daryl turned to look at us. I closed my eyes, once again feigning sleep. When he was satisfied we were still sleeping, Daryl turned back around.

"What about you?" he asked Rick. I could hear Rick shifting in the driver's seat, trying to get comfortable, and I wondered if he'd rebroken his ribs. When he started talking, Rick's voice was stilted, and he didn't tell his story in order. He didn't talk about leaving the prison, but instead told Daryl about me finding them in the house, then jumped to his narrow escape from the claimers when Carl and I were out on a run, and then, his voice strained, admitted he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious and Carl had been alone in the house before he'd awoken and I'd arrived.

"Anything coulda happened," he said. I opened my eyes in the dark. In the moonlight I could see Rick's head in front of me, ducked down, staring at the steering wheel, and when he spoke again, I could hear his shame and belated fear in the way his voice shook. "I was so useless, not even awake. Carl didn't know if I was gonna live. He was scared. I coulda died there. Carl coulda been attacked 'fore I woke up. He coulda died. Anything. Anything coulda happened."

"But nothin did," Daryl said. "You're here. Carl too." There was a long silence. Daryl was looking out the window, scanning the treeline, and then very softly, he asked, "Judith?"

"We looked. When we were leavin the prison. We looked. We found the...the baby seat. It was—there was just—" Rick's voice cracked painfully and he lifted and dropped one hand in a helpless gesture. "There was—blood, a lot-I don't know..."

Daryl continued to stare silently out the passenger side window, not looking at Rick. From the back seat I could see Rick wipe roughly at his face, and when he spoke again it was incoherent, just forced-out fragments that cracked and broke with his voice. "I don't know—I can't—I didn't think—Daryl—and then Carl—I don't want—I'm—"

Daryl glanced at Rick, his expression unreadable, and then turned and got out of the car. I thought for a moment that he was getting out to give Rick time to compose himself, but after a brief glance down the road, Daryl walked around the car to the driver's side. Rick had already turned in his seat, as if he too were going to get out of the car, but then he'd stalled there, his head bowed, trembling slightly. In one smooth movement, Daryl knelt and put his arms around Rick's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. Rick didn't return the hug. He kept his arms folded protectively around his sore ribs, but he leaned into Daryl hard, like a tree falling after a storm, and hid his face in the crook of Daryl's shoulder and neck. Then he was shuddering, breathing in uneven gasps in Daryl's arms and I realized Rick was sobbing.

I was surprised. Not at the idea that Rick would break down; after everything that had happened, that wasn't exactly a shock. But the familiarity with which Daryl pulled Rick to him, the way Rick accepted the comfort without any hesitation, that surprised me. I hadn't known they could be like this with eachother. I hadn't known this was part of who they were. Had this happened before? How many times? Had this same scene played out somewhere deep in the prison after Lori died? And Daryl, after he'd limped home from finding Merle, had Rick held him like this? I had never thought about it before, but seeing them now, it suddenly seemed not just possible but likely. A whirling blend of emotions expanded in my chest as I watched them: empathy, incredible gratitude and affection, a tinge of jealousy. These were two of my closest friends now, and how much more didn't I know about them? Memories of the long winter with Andrea rushed in, the two of us curled together just like the two men in front of me, seeking warmth and reprieve from the overwhelming grief and loss. Sometimes one of us breaking down and weeping, the other holding her. Other times, when exhaustion made us giddy, whispering and giggling into eachother's hair like girls, our breath mixing. I blinked quickly, tears filling my eyes at the thought of Andrea.

In my lap Carl muttered and flinched, and forgetting that I was pretending to be asleep, I bent over him, smoothing his hair away from his face. When I leaned back, Daryl had tilted his head so that he could see me, and from behind his long hair and my dreads our eyes met for a long moment. His gaze was open and calm. He didn't care what I saw. He trusted me as much as Rick trusted him. Daryl and I, we couldn't have come from more different places, but the end of the world had hardened us, softened us, changed us in the same ways. Our eyes stayed locked, blue into brown, as he held Rick. Finally I very deliberately closed my eyes and tried not to listen as Rick sobbed and Daryl whispered to him. Instead I thought about how the world was now, how everyone had to take what they needed—whether it was food or shelter, comfort, hope or love-wherever they could find it, in whatever clumsy manner it was offered. Sometimes it took another's person's arms to keep the desperation from tearing you apart. I could understand that. I didn't begrudge these two that. I would sleep and give them privacy.

The next morning, Rick and Carl were packing up our few possessions, their conversation awkward in the daylight. Daryl found me behind the car and stopped me from my own packing, lightly placing one hand on my shoulder. Our eyes met again, and I spoke first.

"I'm glad you found us," I said. The words seemed too simple to convey everything I thought and felt, but Daryl nodded, his attention flickering back to the road, the treeline, the way it always did.

"Me too," he said.

"Thank you," I said. He looked back at me, surprised.

"What for?"

"For being there," I said. "Just for being you." Daryl stared at me, considering. Then he pulled me into a rough hug. I hugged him back and he kissed the top of my head.

"C'mon, Mich. We got a long way yet to go." 


End file.
